


Our Inner Wars

by fluffernutter8



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s01e07 Angel, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 03:05:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5318096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffernutter8/pseuds/fluffernutter8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things can change with a simple word said or unsaid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Inner Wars

**Author's Note:**

> I want to really apologize to Angelus2hot, who organized this again, but who I failed in timeliness. (A ton of things converged in my life at once, including school stuff and a death in my community, but I didn't come here to make excuses, I came here to post some fanfiction.)
> 
> Some dialogue used from the transcript of 1x07 "Angel" from BuffyWorld.

Buffy loves to run now. The strength is different. When she lifts something heavy or hits a vampire hard, it is as easy and unconscious as picking up a mug or closing a door. But when she is running, she can feel her muscles working and the breeze rushing past her. She knows that she’s different now. But as she and Angel run from the trio of huge vampires, she doesn’t have time to notice the changes, she just has time to run, just has time to think that her house has never looked so good. She is up the steps in a second, Angel on her heels, and lets herself breathe for the pause it takes to open the door. She moves to slam it again, but Angel is still on the other side.

“What are you doing? They’re right there,” she says, almost panting, watching over his shoulder as three hulking shadows storm their way down Revello Drive. Angel looks through the doorway at her, and the smile that she sometimes get from him, that flirty lightness that makes her stomach feel floaty, is absent. The biting fierceness from before in the alley is gone, and there’s just this sagging sort of acceptance that she doesn’t understand. “Angel?” she says.

“A vampire,” he tells her gently, “Can’t come in unless it’s invited.”

They are behind Angel before she can even think of a question to ask. Two pinning arms behind his back, one stabbing claws into his shoulder, a growling grin on his face as he looks through Buffy’s doorway.

“We have failed, but we will be failures who bring gifts,” he says, and they drag Angel down the street while Buffy stands frozen behind protection she cannot see.

She calls Giles, the explanation flowing confusedly, and hangs up abruptly when her mother comes in.

“Are you alright?” Joyce asks, and Buffy says something about being tired and tries not to look shaken as she takes herself to bed.

* * *

Giles doesn’t like her skipping class, but she comes into the library first thing in the morning. She can’t sit; she is walking around the library, touching books, picking up pencils, accidentally snapping them. Willow and Xander come to sit at the table as the warning bell rings. Willow is looking nervously at the door as if she expects the principal to come in and give her detention. Xander keeps touching his face, probably trying to make sure he doesn’t smile.

“So Angel is a vampire,” he says. “Discuss.”

Willow puts up her hands. “Or-or you don’t have to. Because ‘discuss’ is a pretty orderly verb, and you might be in a place where ‘rant’ or ‘blabber’ is better. Especially after the part where he saved you and then got kidnapped, so…”

“Maybe I’ll get to ranting and blabbering later, but right now I still want some information.” She raises her voice on the last word. Giles gets his revenge almost immediately, his exhausted voice startling over her shoulder, one of the volumes he is holding poking her in the back.

“And you shall have it.” He sets his books on the table. “The trio of vampires who followed you from the Bronze are most likely these fellows.” He points out a picture and continues at her nod. “Yes, these are the Three. Their entrance into the fray indicates that you are hurting the Master very much. They are each strong and well-trained, a true asset to him.” Giles looks over his glasses. There is something gentle in his eyes. “You were most likely lucky that Angel was available to assist you. We will have to step up our training in the future, but for now we have this to turn to.” He pulls out another book. “I had found nothing on Angel in most of the common sources, but then I thought to look in the diaries of past watchers and found this: mention some two hundred years ago in Ireland of Angelus, the one with the angelic face.”

Xander snorts. Willow sighs. Buffy leans over the book, following Giles’s finger.

“I haven’t been up close and personal with this tattoo it’s talking about, but the rest of it sounds right.” Her mouth tightens. “Or so right it’s wrong.”

“Huh?” Xander says, trying to peer at what she’s reading.

“It seems that Angel- that is, Angelus was particularly vicious in his killing,” Giles says. “That was how he came to be included in the diary. The watcher at the time was considering sending his slayer to where he was rumored to be hunting in order to stop him.”

“So what happened?

“He stopped killing.” Buffy looks up at Giles. “What does that mean? He got pulled in by the vegans and switched to a blood-free diet? Got a personal donor?”

Her tone is sharp, and Giles raises his eyebrows above his mug of tea and speaks with a seemingly extraneous mildness. “I don’t know, Buffy. When Angelus was no longer active, it was assumed that he had been killed by another vampire or a local hunter, or perhaps through some accident. No one really thought to investigate the disappearance of one vampire, no matter how notorious.”

“Bet that watcher’s doing the old grave roll of regret now,” Xander says. Buffy feels almost alienated from his humor.

“What's the plan?” she asks brusquely.

“You will step up patrols, and I shall accompany you.”

“I think Buffy meant for rescuing Angel,” Willow says. It isn't what Buffy wanted to mean, but she appreciates it anyway.

“Ah.” The sound is expressive all on its own. “Well. For the present, I suppose we'll wait to see how things progress. But Buffy,” he looks at her, voice gentle again. Her fingers flex on the back of the closest chair. “I know you've developed something of an affection for Angel, but I must know that you will do what is required if things become dire.”

“You can count on me for the dire,” she says smoothly, and tries not to think of Angel being taken away into the night. 

* * *

She runs the way home that evening, after pushing through classes and setting up time to study with Willow for their history test that's coming up and beating Giles to the training mat over and over. She breathes easily into the quiet. She knows Giles is right about Angel, about the nature of vampires and the most basic rule of slaying. But her instinct that usually says “see vampire, slay vampire,” isn't saying that now. It keeps remembering Angel in alleyways, handing her a cross, getting sliced for her. She's heard of playing with your food, but she doesn't know how helping and arming her fits with that. And thinking of that Angel, the Angel who helped her and smiled at her, taken away makes her want to up Giles's migraine numbers and stage a rescue.

She's quiet as she comes into the house. The kitchen light is on, and she goes to say hello to her mother.

“Hey! I'm home.” Her hand is thinking about stakes before she fully realizes that a vampire's blond hair is stroking her mother's neck. She will have to break the table.

The vampire pushes Joyce into her arms. “Mommy shouldn't talk to strangers,” she says, her voice too rich, too sweet. Buffy recognizes her, but that is faint and unimportant. The vampire backs away from Buffy. In the doorway she pauses, bitterness pulsing on her face for one moment. “And slayers shouldn't steal. I won't be back. I've seen enough of you.”

As Joyce is loaded into the ambulance moments later, Buffy notices a piece of heavy paper crumpled by the kitchen door. She looks at it in the waiting room, while a doctor is fixing Joyce without knowing what's wrong.

There are no tombstones in the drawing, but it's clearly in the cemetery. Buffy's leg is drawn outthrust and victorious, her face fiercely open. It's unsigned. She knows who drew it.

* * *

Her mother wakes only once, only briefly, seeming dazed and vague. Willow and Xander come, and Giles gets there a few minutes later. The sight of him skidding into the room, not even thinking about how off it looks, makes Buffy smile. They step out into the hallway.

Exhausted arms around herself, she says, “She's gonna be okay. They gave her some iron. Her blood count was pretty…"

“...low? Yes, it presents itself like mild anemia.” Giles breaks in gently. He touches her shoulder, guiding her aside to let a pair of nurses pass. “Are you alright?”

“I'm perfect. Ten fingers, ten toes, and look, all my own teeth.” Willow makes a small noise that isn't laughter. “I guess Mom took all the scathing from this encounter.”

“You were surprised by a vampire in your home. Your mother was injured. You can't be blamed for being surprised. I certainly don't blame you.” Giles still looks slightly uncomfortable at the words, but Buffy doesn't leave much time for that.

“This isn't going to happen again,” she says.

“You want to brainstorm home security ideas?” Xander asks. “Because I've been working on this fence made out of stakes idea that I think has potential.”

“Thanks,” Buffy says, “But I'm thinking of answer that came from inside the box.”

Willow's anxiety is obvious as she says, “But you don't even know where she is. How are you going to…?” She mimes plunging a stake as unobtrusively as she can, a significant expression around her eyebrows.

“I'm not going to find her.”

“So you're thinking missed connection personal ad?”

Willow elbows Xander. “Who are you going to find?”

“Angel,” she tells them, already walking determinedly away. She is there just long enough to hear Xander say from behind her, “I like a dramatic exit as much as the next guy, but should someone maybe-” before she is out the door.

* * *

Angel lives near the Bronze, she's sure of that. All the clues that she put together on the phone with Willow, wondering about this mysterious guy, come back to her. She makes a detour to the school, and takes a few practice shots with the crossbow Giles had taken away that afternoon. She runs through the alleys of Sunnydale. She feels focused. She isn't sure what she's looking for. All the low, dark apartments around here look like they're move-in ready for vampires.

Someone comes down the alley: an older woman, key in hand to unlock one of the doors. Buffy leans to the side so her crossbow is hidden against the wall.

“I'm looking for a guy called Angel. I think he lives around here. Tall, dark hair, quiet.”

The lady looks at her for a moment, then says, “I know him. Keeps to himself. Comes out at night.” She points down the way. “Around the corner. One of the bottom apartments.” Buffy nods her thanks and begins walking away. There's a jingle of keys and then the woman speaks again. “Be careful.” Buffy turns slightly. The woman has a small, shadowed smile. “A boy like that, he can break your heart.”

The apartments have heavy doors and no windows. Buffy tries to think of how to pick the right one, but it happens without effort: there is a cracking kind of noise within one of them, and it is not the sound of a dish against tile or a playful slap between friends. Buffy thinks of ringing violence when she hears it, even though it is probably too quiet for most people to have heard through the brick.

She waits until someone comes to throw away garbage in the alley, clanging against the trash can and talking loudly to someone through the doorway of their apartment, and uses the sound to cover the quick twist as she breaks the lock on Angel’s place and opens the door partway.

Angel is sitting in a chair. He looks like he has a maximum brood on and there are narrow slashes along his right cheek, but other than that he seems fine. The blonde vampire stands in front of him, talking in her rich voice. The anger that Buffy had buried in the coldness of planning and sneaking about comes back at the thought of Joyce’s blood inside of her.

“Did you think you could go on feigning humanity forever until the stink of it had overcome everything that is beautiful and vicious about you? Did you think that you could forget everything that I found inside of you?” She slides closer to Angel, her voice slithering down to a bedroom whisper in Angel’s ear. He is still. Something twitches along Buffy’s back: a suppressed shiver. “She could never have loved you, no matter how hard you played make believe. You would have pined until she died, wondering if you could possibly tell her the truth, if you could show her your true face and have her give you a kiss.”

Angel’s voice is low and dark as he says, “Leave, Darla,” but Buffy can tell that something in him is shaken by her words.

“So come with me. Come home, Angelus. There’s nothing left for you here. Come with me, and you’ll finally know if she’s truly as sweet as you imagine.” Darla’s hair swings just a little, hiding her smile as she wraps herself around Angel to whisper, “I have the feeling she’s even sweeter.”

For the first time, real feeling comes into Angel’s eye, into his voice. He looks up at Darla and says, “What have you done?” and there’s horror in the words.

“Nothing permanent,” Darla reassures him, gleefully innocent. “Just doing a little experiment. If family resemblance goes blood-deep, you’re in for a treat.”

“I think there was a compliment in there somewhere,” Buffy says. Angel and Darla turn to her. Buffy shrugs at their momentary surprise. “My ears were burning.”

Darla starts to coo something, but Angel’s voice overrides hers. “Get out of here, Buffy.”

“Sorry, the invite only thing is a one way street, and I have business here.” She wiggles the crossbow, then brings it up and aims at Darla.

“Cute,” Darla says, all alpha girl, and Buffy hates her more. “But are you sure you’re ready for that?”

Buffy releases the arrow. It sticks in the wall behind where Darla would have stood, but Darla has already moved and has Buffy against the opposite wall.

She is faster and stronger than Buffy had imagined. Giles’s warning and reprimands play in Buffy’s head as she struggles against her, but she doesn’t have the time for breezy words. Darla laughs as they grapple, and Buffy has the strange thought that she might die. _One for the diaries_ , she thinks. _First slayer to die by catfight._

Darla lifts off her suddenly. Angel is standing there, resting Darla on her feet. Buffy raises herself from the floor. Darla opens her arms to Angel, glowing.

“I’m so glad you’ve seen the dark, my love. I knew she couldn’t take you away from me.”

Angel kisses her on the forehead. Buffy thinks she is going to be sick. She searches for the crossbow a little hopelessly.

“That isn’t how we are,” Darla admonishes, frothy and sly. She raises her face to Angel.

“You’re right,” Angel says, and he stabs Buffy’s arrow into Darla’s chest. Buffy feels her eyes widen, and she knows that Darla is shocked too. Her body seems to understand what has happened in slow motion. She looks down at herself, then up again.

“Angel?” she says, small and almost lost, and then she is just ash on Angel’s floor.

* * *

Angel makes tea afterward. Buffy barely touches hers. She turns big eyes on Angel and asks questions, grateful for a brief, bitter moment that Joyce is spending the night in the hospital so there will be no interruptions or excuses.

“How did you know…” she pauses, gestures to the floor, and takes a breath before finishing, “Darla?”

Angel uses his cup to rest his hands and peers into it like it’s scrying water. “She was my sire. She turned me. It was a few hundred years ago now.”

“We read about it. Giles found some information. The book said you were vamp of the year for a couple centuries.”

“Yes.” Angel brings his eyes up. There’s something strange to that, Angel being direct, sitting there with lamplight on his face rather than being a person of shadowed mysteries. Except that he isn’t a person. “We started with my family- my parents and my sister. Then it was the neighbors. My parents’ friends, and their children.” There’s a hummingbird pitch to his voice, a very slight rising hysteria that is almost hypnotized. “And then we,” he laughs a little, quiet and brutal. “We decided to see the world.” He is looking at Buffy eye to eye, with careful directness, so she is sure to hear. “For a hundred years I offered ugly death to everyone I met, and I did it with a song in my heart.”

Something in his tone makes her wonder if he is telling her this to goad her so she will want to kill him. But something in her mind tells her to ask the question. “Why did you change?”

“Every life I took was a violation,” he says. “I should have been punished each time. But it didn’t happen until I killed the wrong girl. She was about your age.” For the first time, Angel looks old. Not older, enigmatic and sexy and interesting, but exhaustedly old, like hidden years are revealing themselves in his weary shoulders. “She belonged to a clan of Romani- you would probably know them as Gypsies- and she was their favorite daughter. The elders conjured the perfect punishment for me: they restored my soul.”

“What, they were all out of boils and blinding torment?” Buffy says, but it’s gentle, yearning to be a joke when the room is so tense.

“When you become a vampire the demon takes your body, but your soul, that's gone. There’s no conscience, no remorse...It's such an easy way to live, Buffy.” Angel’s eyes flick downward as if even while he is trying to be honest, he can’t quite bear this. “You have no idea what it's like to have done the things I've done...and to care. My faults and those memories are always with me. Every morning I wake up in the same body and I’m haunted by my own hands.”

Buffy almost wants to touch him across the table. She wonders if Giles would think that she was being foolish, that there was no proof of any of what he was saying except Darla’s ashes on the floor, but Giles wasn’t sitting here watching Angel’s haunted eyes. “So you got your soul and you got called up to Team Human? That’s good.”

But Angel is shaking his head. “It’s more like entering Alcoholics Anonymous. Every day I make the choice to help humans instead of hurting them. Tomorrow it could overcome me, and I need you to be prepared for that.”

“Don’t worry, I’m prepared,” Buffy says seriously, and barely thinking about it, she leans across the table and kisses Angel. When she pulls away, his eyes stay closed for a moment, loose and sweet. As she goes to sit back in her seat, his hand comes out, fast as her breath, and grasps the cross around her neck.

“I know you are,” Angel says. His palm begins to smoke from his gift to her before he lets go and when her necklace swings back she can see that its imprint remains.

* * *

She lies in Angel’s bed that night. He sleeps insistently on the floor.

“Angel?” she says into the darkness and the muffled velvet canopy. She is about to ask if he snores, but thinks better of it. “I’m glad you’re okay,” she says instead, and she feels lucky that he can’t see her flush and bite her lip.

He shifts on the floor and is quiet for a moment, but there’s something of a smile in his voice when he answers, “Today, I am too.”

**Author's Note:**

> When I first signed up for IWRY this year, I was planning on writing a totally different story. But I was getting into the writing zone by watching the season 1 episode Angel, and I thought to myself what a narrow thing it was that Angel made it inside Buffy’s house. I’m pretty interested in the idea of how easily alternate universes are created- a missed or changed word and everything could be different- so I started writing about that, trying to imagine how that would change things and offer an opportunity to examine some different things while still keeping some of the elements of the episode.
> 
> The thing is that, while that might be interesting in theory, the reality is that it ended up very similar to the actual episode. And I’m sort of okay with that because it means that the original episode is so well constructed that I wanted to hang on to it. I guess it’s one of my favorite BTVS episodes for a reason! (Seriously, though, I am actually obsessed with the final image of that episode- Buffy’s cross burned into Angel’s chest during the kissed.)
> 
> Now off to read all those IWRY stories I missed while I was getting this ready!


End file.
